Finding Home
by HavenKane
Summary: Harry thought he could live without it. He thought he could live without them. He had a new life, and was actually happy. Where will he turn when all of that is taken away from him?
1. Prologue

I do not own Harry Potter.  
  
This started out as an experiment. I wanted to see if I would write something with a bit more detail than I usually put in my stories. It ends up. I REALLY like it. I hope you all do too. and if you do.. TELL ME! I love reviews! When I don't want to write I read them and they encourage me.  
  
Prologue  
  
A young man of no more than twenty sat silently in the corner of a darkened room. He was a fairly attractive, if a bit forlorn, looking man. His sandy brown hair was gathered back in a ponytail that fell just below his shoulder blades. His softly angled features were only barely clinging to the last vestiges of youth. His unblemished face was drawn into a well- practiced frown, as his soft blue-green eyes took in the room with unveiled apathy.  
  
The man lifted his nearly empty drink to his lips, filling the room with the quiet sound of ice against glass. He drained the last of the amber liquid from its container and stood. He abandoned his armchair and crossed the room, negotiating the abundance of obstacles set before him with only a thin steak of moonlight to light his path. He placed the glass tumbler in the sink, moving his hand to the wall at his side and flipping the small switch found there.  
  
The room was not quite flooded in the light that the single bulb produced, and the man turned to face the single room apartment. His blank face never faltered as he surveyed the disaster that lay out before him. The apartment looked as though it had been thoroughly ransacked. Books littered the ground, as did the shelves that had once held them. The coffee table was up ended and half hidden beneath the mattress, which had escaped its bed. The man snatched up a couch cushion from the floor next to the sink and set about righting the room.  
  
Once the couch, bed, and coffee table were back in place, and the books and shelves had been restored to their wall, he turned his attention toward the closet and the mound of clothes lying in front of it. As he loaded the last of the, now full, hangers onto the rod a loud squeak echoed through the room. The man looked down to see short brown arms sticking out from either side of his boot. He drew back his foot to reveal a small teddy bear, which issued another squeak as the pressure against it was released. He knelt down and picked up the stuffed toy, letting the first bit of emotion slip through his mask. He smiled and squeezed the bear's stomach again. Tears built up in his eyes, and his smile slowly faded. Curling his arm around the small toy, he rose to his feet and dropped onto the bed in the center of the room. He lay there motionless for hours before finally crying himself to sleep. 


	2. Defining Home

Alright. I know. I'm evil. I wrote a tiny little teaser and then waited decades to continue. It wasn't my intention, but that's the way it happened. So... I'll get on with it.

Chapter 1

A single ray of late evening sunlight hit the window of the western exposure and fell through the small gap between the fading navy blue curtains. It started on the floor not far from the wall and crept across the powder blue carpeting. It climbed the side of the bed and across the top before meeting the sleeping man lying upon the dark blue comforter. The warm beam of light glided across his chin and lips, grazing the side of his nose before falling onto his left eye. The eye opened briefly, only to be immediately shut hard against the annoying ray of light. The owner of the eye rolled his body over, smashing his face deep into the pillow beneath him and groaning softly. He turned and sat up slightly, wiping the sleep from his eyes with his unoccupied hand. He glanced down at the contents of his right hand and gave the bear a heavy sigh.

He dropped his still shoed feet to the floor and stood. Laying the bear he still clutched in his hand gently on the bed, he made his way toward the bathroom. He stood a few moments later staring at his own reflection in the small mirror above the slowly dripping sink. His mask of indifference was now firmly back in place. He raised a steady hand to his own face, running his fingers through the black roots of his long brown hair and sighing. He pulled back the mirror from the wall, revealing your average medicine cabinet. Selecting a few items from the shelves within and setting them on the sink, he swung the mirror back in place. He continued his staring match with the doppelganger before him and raised his hand once more to his face, pressing his index finger against his right eye and pulling away again with a vaguely blue dome nestled on the tip. Doing the same to the other eye, he immersed the contacts in a cool clear liquid.

Deftly avoiding his now piercing green eyes in the small mirror, he opted instead for removing his large black boots. He peeled off his dark gray thoroughly wrinkled dress shirt and tossed it at the wicker hamper in the corner. He repeated the procedure with the rest of his attire and stepped into the shower. He pulled the small band of elastic out of his hair, and turned the knob until scalding water poured out over his body. He quickly cleaned himself and stopped the flow of water. He stepped from the shower and wrapping himself in a towel, he returned to his place before the mirror, wiping it free of the condensation that his hot shower had coated it in. He locked eyes with his reflection for a moment, sending and receiving a look of pure disgust before setting about the task of returning his vision. When his eyes were once again a soft sea foam blue, he turned his attention toward his hair. Having nothing with which he could change the color of his darkening roots he decided that a tight ponytail at the base of his neck would have to do for now.

Opening the medicine cabinet once again he replaced the items he had removed earlier and put a small glass jar on the sink where they had been. He opened the jar and began smearing a liberal amount of the soft tan colored cream across his forehead in an attempt to hide the thin jagged line that marred his otherwise perfect face. He was apparently very adept at this art, as the scar was all but invisible by the time he exited the bathroom. Selecting a handful of clothing from the closet, the man dressed himself. As he finished buttoning his soft black dress shirt, his eyes landed once again on the teddy bear propped up against his pillows. Anguish once again filled his eyes before he could secure his mask. The practiced frown returned and he left to retrieve his boots. Moments later as the now fully dressed man exited the appartment building he let his mind wander.

He tried to avoid the most painful topics, and instead landed upon the idea of home. Home. How could something so simple, something that so many people took for granted, be so elusive to one man? Harry Potter, as I'm sure you all now realize who this mysterious man is, had had a home once, or so he was told. He had been told tales of his happy family, of his loving parents, and of the abundance of friends who would stop by the home in Godrics Hollow. He only knew what he had been told though. He personally didn't remember anything about that place, or at least nothing that he cared to dwell on. His happy home in Godric's Hollow lasted just over a year, and from there he was taken somewhere far less pleasant. Privet Drive had never felt like home, and although he was technically with family, his happiness there was limited to say the least.

When Harry turned eleven years old he was invited back into the world that the Dursleys had tried to keep hidden from him, and he found a place that he could call home again. So for six years Harry spent his summers waiting, usually rather impatiently, to go back to his haven of magic and mystery. Surviving only through correspondence with his friends, whom he counted as family more readily than he ever had the Dursleys. He hadn't spoken to a single one of them in years though, and he didn't think he could stomach the sight of the place anymore. Things changed drastically for Harry in his sixth year, and after finally putting an end to the monster who had tormented him for most of his life, Harry fled.

None of the dozens of places he had stayed that first year felt even vaguely like home, but with the appearance of a steady job his little one room apartment had started to show some potential. Bethany moved in shortly after Harry's 18th birthday and added a touch of life to the place, but it wasn't until the first time that he had carried Teagan across the threshold that he truly considered himself to be home again. He had loved his life. It was nothing glamorous, which he was thankful for, but so long as he got to go home to his wife and daughter he could take whatever they could throw at him, sometimes literally depending on how drunk he allowed the customers to become. So what happens when your reasons for living literally walk out the door? Harry honestly didn't know.

Harry rounded the corner of Elderment and 5th Street as the first fat drops of rain hit the pavement. He quickened the pace of his steps for the next half of a block and ducked under an old green awning just seconds before the full force of the storm hit. Harry pulled open the door with the word "Tanner's" on the door in peeling gold letters. He entered the smoke filled room and headed immediately for the bar. Stepping behind he faced the back wall, took a deep breath, and pulled the small silver band from his left ring finger. He placed it in his pocket before turning back and greeting a young blonde who had just approached.

A sly smile spread across his face. "Hello, love. What can I get for you?" He knew that she was far from being old enough to drink, but he had been seventeen when he started working here, so he didn't care.

"Um..." she gave a nervous giggle, "three beers. I guess." She was definitely new at this. She glanced back at a small table on the other side of the pub, and Harry followed her gaze. Two girls who looked even younger than the first snuck nervous glances at the bar. They couldn't have been more than sixteen. "Sure thing, love," Harry winked at the girl who gave a sigh of relief. Harry retrieved a very watered down version of the girl's order and handed them over as she threw five pounds more than would have covered the drinks onto the bar and hurriedly returned to her friends.

Harry's smile fell and he went to the cash register, pocketing the change. "I just asked my girlfriend to marry me! Get me drunk!" exclaimed and extremely excited voice to his left.

His happy mask back in place, Harry turned to face the man. Sheer force of will kept his chin from dragging the ground. A man about a head taller than himself stood pulling his sopping wet flaming red hair away from his heavily freckled face.

"Sure, mate," Harry smiled. "What's your poison?" Harry's heart ached. He didn't think that he could take much more of this. Despite what he tried tell everyone else, there were people in this world that Harry Potter truly loved. Bethany and Teagan had only been the latest. The man standing in front of him had been one of the first.

"Ron!" and there was another. A young, and somehow completely dry, brunette stormed into the pub glaring daggers at Harry's newest customer. "You are not getting drunk before we go over to my parent's house."

"Not drunk, 'Mione," Ron said defensively. "I can have one drink though. Come on. I'm nervous as..."

"Ronald!" the brunette said in a threatening tone of voice. A myriad of emotions played across Harry's face, but the happy couple was far too caught up in their apparently well practiced banter to notice what they were putting the poor bartender through.

Harry stared at his two ex-best friends, filled with a thoroughly confusing mixture of happiness, longing, resentment, and bitterness. He watched wide eyed as Hermione took Ron by the wrist and drug him to the door with a brilliant smile. Ron's ears turned red and he smiled back.

In that moment, as once again two of the only people that had ever mattered to him walked out the door, longing won out.

"Well, I'm out of here," Mike stated as he pulled on his coat. "The place is all yours for the night, Chris." Harry glanced over at the bartender who manned the shift before his.

"You have to cover my shift. I have to go," Harry said before he had even realized what he was going to do. Not waiting for a reply, Harry took off for the door, leaving a rather confused and extremely perturbed older man in his wake.

Harry burst through the door and out onto the slowly flooding street. He stared around wildly, hoping to catch a glimpse of his prey. The street was nearly empty, and a sharp laugh drew his eyes to the right just as a spot of Weasley red rounded the corner. Harry set off at a run, desperate not to loose them. He was extremely thankful that he had never lost what years of quidditch and Harry hunting had given him. In other words, when he ran, he ran fast. Reaching the corner before the couple was twenty paces from it, Harry stopped. Hermione turned and gave him a look, drawing Ron's attention. Harry however just stared. This was as far as he had planned. What happened now?

Thanks for reading. Now review.


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